When I was living in Mississippi, I always felt safe. Daddy had a way of making the most frightening things seem like nothing, and even when the weather was horrible and I was afraid of the hurricanes, I could crawl back into my parents’ bed and stay there, knowing that I was safe. Looking back it was absurd to think that hiding that way could protect from the wrath of a storm that strong but that’s part of the innocence of childhood. I think I miss that more than I want to admit.

Those are the memories that make me feel safest. When I can look back on family albums, I don’t always remember the precise reason that things happened how they did. But I do remember the way I felt, and that seems most important. I’d rather look back on the feeling of being safe than the memory as to why I was.

He’d walked away this time, and somehow she wondered if it did serve her right. It had been Stacy to leave before and now Greg was the one that had closed the door to her office, solidifying the decision she had no choice in whatsoever.

Because she’d wanted to stay. Being with him, all his faults taken into account, had been more important than maintaining vows of marriage that should have been sacred. They were, up until he’d kissed her and she’d kissed back.

And in the end that hadn’t been enough. Nowhere close to enough, nothing resembling any sort of solidified understanding that she’d been fighting for all this time. Because he had walked away, taking her heart with him, and now she had nothing left to do but pack up and go home to Short Hills.

It really wasn’t home anymore, but heartbreak did that to people. It made them question where they belonged. And she was going to have to figure out just where that was again, without him.

The bed was as warm as she remembered and when the phone rang nearby Stacy bit down a curse. Rolling onto her stomach she buried her face in the pillows and felt a smile curve at her lips as House brushed soft lips and coarse stubble over her spine.

“Don’t answer it,” she muttered and had the satisfaction of hearing him laugh. “Then I won’t,” he said, his tone as stubborn as ever, and she laughed in response to that. His arm was warm and strong across her back, and when his fingers moved to stroke the curve of her spine Stacy sank further into the softness of the pillows.

She didn’t want him to answer it but knew he would, and when he rolled away from her to grab the phone her head lowered to rest down again. It wasn’t a mistake but it wasn’t going to fix everything either. And sooner or later they were going to have to talk.

Once and once only, or maybe not at all. Reminiscing is too much on some days and never enough when I’d want it to be more. I could tell anyone that was willing to listen about just the way we met and how horrible that first date actually was. He had little to no regard for how a date was supposed to be and I didn’t think I’d ever see him again.

I certainly never thought I’d be moving in.

And I didn’t really think I’d get married, not the way I had. I thought that at some point Greg would come home and surprise me with a ring he’d picked out that was all wrong but somehow perfectly right and find a rakish, unromantic way to propose. And I know I would have accepted, never minding how he actually did it. The thing that would have mattered the most with Greg was that he wanted to get married.

We didn’t have a fairytale life at all, even when we were together. I wasn’t his princess and he was no prince, but I loved him. I still do, at that.

"Something of vengence I had tasted for the first time; as aromatic wine it seemed, on swallowing, warm and racy: its after-flavor, metallic and corroding, gave me a sensation as if I had been poisoned." - Charlotte Bronte

I didn’t think he’d want to hurt me. Of course I knew he’d be angry, because being angry was the easy part. It was easier to hate than understand, far more simple to conjure up resentment as opposed to taking the time to analyze what had been happening and understand what I had done and why I had done it.

When Dr. Cuddy - Lisa - walked back into Greg’s room I didn’t rise from my seat right away. The cup of coffee in my hands had long since grown cold but I still sipped from it anyway. It was some comfort, at least, something that was solid and I could hold onto.

The way he was holding onto his life.

He was so stubborn, I knew that already from years of being in the relationship I had come to love. There was an endearing arrogance about him, something that I couldn’t walk away from even while I tried.

That sort of quality was just the beginning of why I wanted to fight for him. I couldn’t worry about his wants, even though I wished I could. And I couldn’t worry about how much he was going to hate me when he woke up and realized what I’d done. He’d know it was me, and we’d never be the same afterward.

But that was all right. It had to be. It was a risk I was willing to take, for the sake of his life.

It was the third hotel, but she didn’t know how many more there would be to come. Why she moved so much she didn’t know, but getting further and further away was the only idea she could think of. There were only a few suitcases since most of her things were still at his apartment, but she could make do with this for now. Besides, moving on and past without her things might make it easier in the end. If she could get away without the ghosts of his memories following her to wherever she went, maybe there would be a chance at this being all right.

She didn’t know. When the hotel room door closed heavily behind her, the laptop case was tossed onto the bed and when Stacy shrugged out of her coat the first thing she wanted to do was order a bottle of wine. Something soft and warm, that she could enjoy in the private anonymity of four walls that she would pay for until she wanted to move on again. And she could relax in knowing she was safe here, not from any sort of physical harm but from having to contend with something that she wasn’t ready to deal with.

Moving on and moving away were two different things, and while one would come faster than the other it didn’t mean she couldn’t do both.

What if? What if I hadn’t left, hadn’t decided I couldn’t live my life with unnecessary guilt? If I’d chosen between myself and him, but instead chosen him and stayed, regardless of the suffering? Would it have been worth it, been different? What would my life have been like if it would still have been with him?

When I think back on the time we had together I know it was nowhere near all bad. There was something almost beautiful, at least for a time, and I remember how unexpected it was for it to start. It ended just as abruptly when love turned sour and I had to leave to get far enough away to save myself. I had been so preoccupied with trying to save him that I’d forgotten about myself.

Maybe that’s where I went wrong. Love is nothing without adding the second person into the equation, and I wonder if I went wrong by removing him from it. I wonder ‘what if?’ about that a lot. I keep wondering what would have changed and happened if I’d stayed, if we could have come back from this and been stronger for it.

There isn’t another question that I ask myself because the answer to that one holds too many other questions.

I'd go back to the first time we met. No, I'm being honest. If I had that sort of a chance I'd go back to the start of our relationship and savor it all over again. It was special, even if the first date was absolutely horrible.

Going back to that time would be perfect, to when I could remember the horrible aftertaste of the burgers we bought and the bitterness of what the place tried to pass off for coffee. He wasn't exactly the best at dating, he'd told me that from the start, but this date had only reinforced that theory in my mind.

Still, a week later I was moving in and pouring myself into every element of his life. Really, I wasn't quite sure how it happened but it did and I wasn't sorry for it at all. That's what happens when love does what it does, when it takes hold of you and makes you forget just what it is you were trying to remember about yourself for years.

But maybe it's okay to forget. I forgot plenty of things outside of that date, and that's why I'd go back there. As quickly as I could, without a moment's second thought. I'd run back to just relive it all over one more time, and remind myself why it's okay he hates me now.

Like I've said, it's okay that he hates me now because he's alive to hate me and that's what matters. That he's alive.

#003 - Aerodynamically the bumble bee shouldn't be able to fly, but the bumble bee doesn't know it, so it goes on flying anyway. --Mary Kay Ash.

I had thought that when I left home, it was time for a fresh start. When I walked away from my childhood I wanted to begin anew, start something different and do something I'd never dared to before. It wasn't in the makeup my parents had set out before me, but that was all right. It was, after all, what I wanted.

So I started out slowly. School first, working two or three jobs into the late nights when law school caught my interest and I didn't have the financial means otherwise. It wasn't easy but nothing worthwhile ever is, and I didn't care. I was willing to do whatever it took to make it happen.

I quit caring how I got there, just as long as I did it a way I wanted to. As long as I was working, fighting, and trying to do more than I might have been able to while coasting through life with ease. It didn't have to be easy, I learned, to do what was needed. I didn't have to settle for what I didn't want when what was really my desire did exist. And it existed with vibrant realism, within reach.

After all, that was the most important thing I could have learned. That it was okay to keep flying and moving higher, even if it wasn't the way that other people wanted me to live my life. It didn't have to be that way, just as long as it was mine.

It wasn’t Mississippi but it was still Christmas. Christmas was something that came whether the world was ready for it or not, a precious and quiet holiday that demanded peaceful attention and togetherness. Christmas in Mississippi meant sweet tea, warm cocoa, the constant scent of things baking by means of grandmother’s secret recipes and the rustling sound of wrapping paper as young voices chattered secrets to one another, all the while claiming they could be kept.

Stacy thought of all this while standing in the most inopportune place, amidst the brightly colored greeting cards and gifts at a Hallmark store two blocks from her apartment. Princeton had seemed the most likely place to go since her divorce, and while she had no idea as to her reasoning behind this, it had been where she had ended up. Maybe it was the convenience of the apartment, or simply the fact that she liked being so close to Lisa and James. They were, after all, two of the only real friends she’d been able to count on.

Her gaze idly moved across the sparkling and foil-trimmed cards, everything red, gold, and green except for random traces of other colors that didn’t seem quite in place. It was a strange time of year where everything seemed welcome and yet she didn’t quite know if she was doing the right thing. Gestures during Christmastime meant more than at any other point because it was Christmas and that was all that mattered.

She didn’t stop to think as she paid for the card, nor as she signed it with a note and sealed the envelope. The stamp was already in her pocket and after addressing the envelope she applied it and dropped it in the nearest mail slot before she could change her mind. Knowing it was crazy didn’t matter once it was finished.

The air didn’t seem as cold when she walked away, and her smile warmed faintly at that realization. After winter would come spring, and spring had always been what her mother called a time for new beginnings. Maybe she’d get her second chance or maybe she wouldn’t. But on Christmas Day when Gregory House went through his pile of mail that he’d been ignoring for three days, he’d see the bright red envelope amongst a stack of bills and advertisements. And even if he didn’t care to say the same, he would know that somewhere in Princeton Stacy Warner was thinking of him, and wishing him a Merry Christmas.

The only time I had cabin fever was when I was a child and waiting for a flight that had been delayed for what felt like an indefinite period of time. I was five and my parents were taking us on a vacation to California, which would have been my first time on a plane. We arrived hours early as was common for my parents with anything else, but the indefinite delay of the flight contributed to exasperation by my parents.

I didn’t want to sit still and I was seven years old, unable to comprehend why we couldn’t be where we were going right at that moment. Instead my father placated me with five dollars to buy candy and a magazine, both of which kept me amused for a total of ten minutes. I was coming out of my skin, and all I wanted to do was get on the plane. Little did I realize at that time that being on a plane meant sitting still for a lengthier amount of time.

That was the last time I can remember that happening. After that I was wise enough to remember music, books, and other means of entertainment to get me through those inevitable stretches of time.

I don't pretend to misunderstand because choices are what have to be made for lives to be saved. I was never a doctor - I never wanted to be, at that - but I made the sort of decision you have to on a daily basis. You've never forgiven it and I can live with that, but it's changed the way I have to live my life.

I walked away to another life. It doesn't matter if it's a better life or not, it's still a life that I had to make as mine. And I love it, for what it brings me and what it deprives me of, just as I love and hate you at the same time for the same reasons.

I don't think it's in you or me to let go of what has happened and whenever I see you I know you look back at the way we were and miss me as I do you. But we aren't where we used to be now, and even though I long for certain parts of the life we had and what could be, I know that this is all we have and all we can gain from it again.

Looking into his eyes was like looking into a dusty mirror that needed desperately to be wiped clean. It would be easy to reach out and wipe away the fragments of the years that had locked them into separate realms, to join them once again into the life that had become theirs and no one else's.

Touching him would have thrown a wrench into her plans, changed up the world she had come to know and erased every sort of comforting wall she had built around herself. She knew she couldn't touch him, and all she wanted to do was that very thing.

It was the weight of their past that would push them together, and the pressure of it that might keep them from ever reaching for one another. She would never admit to what she felt and his eyes indicated he might never be able to do the same.

She had a feeling that coming here was a bad idea. Going around in circles was never a good thing, and being indecisive was worse. This place wasn’t home any longer, she knew that, but it would always be home in her heart. Mississippi had changed from a place of beautiful memories to a land of devastation at the mercy of nature and its whim.

Her home had been spared but it didn’t change the way she looked at it now. Tears pooled in her eyes but she wouldn’t let them fall, because showing anyone else how painful this was to see was out of the question. The palm of her hand brushed across the doorframe and she heard sympathetic words behind her, but none of them seemed to matter.

This place was a fragment of home. A memory of a place she’d come to as a child, places she’d never be able to see again. Time and circumstance had taken them away from her and all she could do now was help to rebuild.

I was probably the only person in my family that didn't like holiday shopping. But I liked everything that surrounded it. I loved holiday activities with Mama, when she'd make hot chocolate and sing to us around the fire, or when Daddy would come in with the tree and his warm, rich voice telling us to come down and help decorate it.

But I don't like shopping around the holidays because I never think I've found the right gift. I have a feeling of inadequacy about what I buy for people, and I always worry that it will never be good enough. I want to find the...perfect gifts and I know that's absolutely impossible. I enjoy the atmosphere and everything that surrounds the holiday season, but the act of shopping is one I don't prefer.

I'll take Christmas over any other time of the year, though. The holidays were always special to me as a child and when I make hot chocolate the way Mama used to I still think I can hear her voice telling me she's proud.

She had been comfortable with looking back, thinking of what was and what might have been were they different people in different times. It became a ritual for her when the snow began to fall, the way that her thoughts carried on in the same fashion time and again.

When she closed her eyes she could remember things she'd almost forgotten, but they were just memories now. Memories were nothing more than ghosts of the past that needed to go away.

She thought of all this when laying on the window seat, wrapped in a blanket while looking out at home. Home was the only place where she felt safe now, and home wasn't even in New Jersey anymore. Here at home she could taste the sweetness of the tea on her lips long after the glass ran dry and feel the coolness of the river's breeze if she so chose.

Maybe it would pass and maybe it wouldn't. Maybe she'd feel whole again and maybe she wouldn't. But it was the only time and place she had left, the raw and realistic presence she couldn't scrape away from her being with any abrasive touch.

When the world quit turning again in a way opposite to the chaotic spiral that was her life, she might be able to find her way again. But this was home, all that she had and all that she wanted. It would come to be what it was again, and she could close her eyes and just give herself up to the peace.

Does history repeat itself? It has in my case, and that's always been the way it is. I can't seem to ever get myself past what I used to do and into a new routine of life.

I should blame him, I really should.

It'd be easier than taking accountability for what I'd been doing all along. I know better than this, but...it's some sort of strange infatuation that comes over me time and again with him. There's so much past, so many things we can't deny when we're together. I think he feels them, too. I never knew anyone the way I knew him before, and now...now it's all so far away.

He wants me to be sorry, and I'm not. I'll never be sorry for what I did. Because if I hadn't, I wouldn't be able to look him in the eyes now and listen to how he hates me. It's fine that he hates me, just as long as he's alive to do it. It's part of loving someone, the sacrifice that we make to keep them. And I'd rather he be alive to hate me than do something stupid and poetic like loving me in death.

She knew he’d never forget her, not really. They had a rather ill sort of relationship even in their state of being apart, where one could not go a day without thinking of the other’s lips, caresses, or voice, all of this while longing for more. It was a disgusting cycle, really, if either of them stopped to think about it, but they didn’t because they didn’t care.

When Stacy drove home to a quiet house and a silent bed some nights she wondered what would happen if she just turned the wheel a little too sharply and let the car take its own course. Not that she ever wanted to die, but more that she wanted to know what would happen to his world if she suddenly weren’t there. What would his life be without her, and what would hers have been without him? She knew he didn’t understand, even to this day.

But what did it matter? How were they really supposed to keep on going this way, with these strange encounters and tense moments, where nothing else seemed to matter except for when they were together? It was driving Stacy mad, just as his indifference drove her to insanity when he pretended she didn’t exist. He tried to pretend, that is, and failed, but it still hurt.

So there were in fact times when Stacy wondered just how much it would really matter if she was suddenly gone from his life. Because she really didn’t know what she’d do without him.

I still remember back to when there was an us to talk about. We didn’t talk about us in the collective way other couples did, about one finishing the sentence of the other or knowing what the other was feeling at a given time of the day. Neither one of us bought into that side of things, we were both too cynical and devoted to our respective lines of work to dwell on that silly ordeal, but we did love each other. I think he might have actually loved me before I loved him, even though I was the one to say it first. Love is a funny thing.

And you don’t realize just how funny until it’s gone past. Until you’re looking for something else to fill that impossible void, and that’s when you begin to question just what you did. I’m still not sorry for how it had to end because it ended with him alive, and I’d much rather have that then the possibility of his death but the certainty of us being together.

We were happy once, when we were an us. I don’t know if I’ll ever be as happy again as when that was the case. But I’m happy as I can be now, and I’m starting to hope that maybe there’ll be a time when he can do the same. I just wish he was able to come back to me, so we could start fresh again...the way we were. Greg and Stacy, almost a single unit, without knowing where one ended and the other began.

My complete opposite is someone I haven’t met at this time. If I knew who they were I’d be cracking some remark about their integrity, something that Greg would probably burst into peals of laughter over. He did favor my Southern wit more than anything, or so he claimed. But I’ve never been the type to have excessive reason to chastise someone unless I vehemently disagree with what they’re trying to enforce.

So, my complete opposite. Someone who doesn’t stand up for what they believe, someone who lets good things walk away, and someone who won’t take care of the people they love no matter the cost. I guess my complete opposite would have to be self centered and narcissistic, and completely unfeeling about other people in the world. When I went into law, I didn’t do it for money, I did it because helping people was something I liked and wanted to do.

And yes, Greg always laughed at me for that.

But that’s what comes to mind when I state who my opposite is. I’ve seen qualities opposite to mine in other people I’ve encountered, but no one person has stood out as my complete and utter anthesis. I was always more prone to keeping to myself rather than starting fights.